


Kenhkwitène'

by ohonte (wingblade)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Character Study, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/ohonte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father and son find themselves reminiscing in the wind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kenhkwitène'

**Author's Note:**

> "Kenhkwitène'" means "in the spring."
> 
> Edited July 28th, 2016.

In the warmth of a rare spring, Haytham Kenway looks out across the expanse of the colonial frontier: a field of green and trees and a river and some more trees — is that a beaver skittering across the shore, its tail slapping against the sand? He imagines a nice shave when he gets back to Boston, a long embrace with Charles, more plotting for the inevitable future. But here he stands — wasting his time, even in his own mind. And yet, the inevitable keeps him in place; locks his knees, makes him hesitate.

Connor Kenway unties his boots and slips the worn leather off his skin. He slowly wades into the cool water of the river, and inside, he feels young again. The days when he and Kanen’tó:kon had had such adventures stream through his mind and are almost expressed through a soft smirk, but Connor stops himself. He doesn’t want this man to see that part of him.

“My people call this ‘ _skén:nen_ ,’” Connor begins carefully.

Haytham is fairly startled. “The, erm, river?”

“No,” Connor replies. “That is ‘ _kanién:tara_.’ ‘ _Skén:nen_ ’ is serenity.”

“You find my presence appealing, then, I take it?” Haytham jests.

Connor’s jaw tightens at his mishap. “I find nature peaceful.” He gestures all around. “Until your people destroy all we hold dear, and then there shall be no more great peace.”

A low blow, he knows, but how else is he supposed to show his wariness? How is he supposed to say, “ _You are not my father. My father is at home. I’m bringing home fresh venison for dinner, and our entire little village is to feast. And you? You are not welcome_.”

Haytham’s pride is offended, surely, but that’s not to say he isn’t used to the detestation of the natives; his original affection for Connor’s mother spoke miles. But all he says is, “You are a lot like your mother.” Stubborn, he means — rash, even courageous, but mostly, _I don’t want to lose you_.

Brushing off the sentiment, Connor looks to the sky. Sunset creeps upon the horizon, and he ponders for a moment for a proper answer. “I am a lot like her,” he finally says. “But more-so, I am my own man.” He turns to look into his father’s eyes for the first time this entire evening. “I must go. I have made…prior arrangements.”

As Connor wades out of the water and reties his boots, his father grabs his arm. Connor sees the gleaming desperation in them and for an instant, he allows that weakness. Then he shakes him off and trudges up the hill back into the forest.

“Son,” he hears, a soft whisper.

_Once more you say that as if it meant anything._

Connor wipes away the wetness in his eyes.

“ _Ó:nen ki' wáhi rake:ni_.”

Goodbye, Father.


End file.
